


Always Meet Your Heroes

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How James thinks meeting Shepard will go versus How meeting Shepard actually goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Meet Your Heroes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DalishGrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DalishGrey/gifts).



> James/Shepard is my absolute number one OTP. I’ve used my own Shepard as I haven’t actually written her and James meeting before! Not quite romance, but hey, this is shega. They’ll get there.

James Vega has many fantasies starring Commander Shepard and not all of them involve her pinning him to a wall and fucking him senseless. 

The other fantasies star them both in battle together. She’s decked out in N7 armour, and he is too, because he’s gonna be N7 one day, and they’re shooting from the hip, lobbing grenades left and right, mowing down the opposition. She might get a little scratch on her cheek, just enough for a thin line of blood to mar her otherwise perfect brown skin. He’d take off his glove and tenderly wipe away the blood. She’d look into his eyes, lips parted, black hair framing her round face. Time would stand still--

_Then_ they’d fuck against a wall.

But his favourite fantasy, the one where he meets her for the first time, is one he conjured and developed and replayed over and over while lying on his squeaky bed in his tiny, dirty apartment on Omega. The one where she saves him. 

He’d be stuck behind enemy lines, all his squad out for the count. Out of grenades, low on thermal clips, barriers out, he'd be the only one left. All around him, mechs and mercs firing at him, breaking down his only cover. He’d send out a distress call. One last call for help.

And she’d come for him. Flying in on a shuttle, she’d straffe the area before being hit by a lucky shot. She’d go down, still firing the mounted machine gun, smoke pouring out the shuttle, but she’d execute an emergency landing, maybe eject and fire off a few rounds while she floated to the ground. His comm would crackle. “ _Stay calm, Lieutenant. Commander Shepard is here to save the day!_ ” And there she’d be, stalking through the battle field, firing a claymore with one hand while mail-slotting with an N7 Eagle in her other. Her hair would stream out behind her and those brown eyes would be filled with vengeance for whoever dared to think they could take on the might of the Alliance. She’d chuck him a thermal clip and he’d catch it one handed, ram it home and he’d join in, high on the guarantee of success now that Commander Shepard was here. She’d clear the field, downing two guys--three guys--with one shot, blowing up others, their limbs flying. 

And then there’d be silence. Just the breeze blowing smoke over the battle ground. She’d be lit by a setting sun, all golden, light glinting off the N7 on her chest. 

“You okay, marine?” she’d ask. He’d nod, dumbstruck, hard in his suit. “What’s your name?” 

“Vega. Lieutenant James Vega. It’s an honour, ma’am.” He’d stand, salute her, but he’d just as easily fall to his knees and worship her. 

She’d roll his name around in her mouth. “Vega.” It would sound so sweet. “You handled yourself well out here. Kept a cool head under pressure.” His heart would swell under such praise. Other organs, too. “Time to get you out of here.” 

And she’d hoist him over her shoulder, like he was a sack of rocks, and she’d jog-- _jog--_ back to the downed shuttle that’d she’d be able to fix with nothing more than some omnigel and her omnitool.

His mind goes a little hazy after this. He knows he should spend more time on the foreplay, but he’s just so damn eager to get her out of her armour that he just presses the N7 on her boob and hey presto, armour falls off. Holy hell, she wears red lacy lingerie. They even have N7 badges sewn on; one covering each nipple and one right down _there_ , where he wants to bury his face.

Yeah. James Vega has thought a lot about how he’d meet his hero. Not that he thought he ever would. But here she was, Commander Dinah Shepard in the flesh, right in front of him. The urge to salute was too great. He snapped straight, giving her all the respect she deserved. 

“Commander Shepard. It’s an honour.”

She raised her eyebrow and quirked her lips. Heat crept up his neck and he dropped his arm, standing at rest instead.

Anderson ignored his faux pas and got straight down to business. James would be Shepard’s guard for the duration of their trip back to Earth. If it all worked out, if they both behaved, then James would continue to guard her while she remained under house arrest.

Never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined _this_. Shepard. His hero, the woman he idolised as a marine, a commander, a woman, locked up in the brig, broken and angry. Caged like a dog. All his expectations came crashing down in an awful, fiery meteor.

She looked bored as Anderson continued. James just felt stupid. What was this? Punishment or reward? He couldn’t tell and he didn’t have enough time to think about it. He looked her over without trying to make it obvious. No red and white stripes on her. Just plain old Alliance BDUs. But no indication that she’d ever worked under the Cerberus banner. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and up this close, he saw ridges and crinkles in her hair, not the long, free flowing waves of his dreams. Her cheeks were slightly pockmarked, forehead blotchy. 

But her eyes. Man, her eyes held that fire that had gripped James right from the start. Sharp, dark brown, but bright. Nothing could dull them. Not even arrest.

“Are we all clear?” Anderson asked, turning to James. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Shepard?”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. When’s dinner? I’m starving.”

Wait, what? Did she just--sure she’d been stripped of her rank but she was still Alliance, and even if you were under house arrest you didn’t just back chat an _Admiral_.

Anderson laughed. “Vega will sort you out. In fact, James, head up to the Mess, introduce yourself, see if you can make yourself useful.”

James saluted, _yes sir_ , and headed towards the elevator.

“Hey, Vega,” Shepard called out. “I like my coffee as thick as tar, my eggs soft boiled, and my lieutenants to have a pair.”

James muttered a ‘yes ma’am’ under his breath and shook his head. _Nothing_ like the fantasies.

*

Yeah, the more time James spent around Shepard, the less heroic she turned out to be. Wasn’t her fault, exactly. She didn’t seem like the type to have okayed that amount of airbrushing on the posters she’d been in. And she was locked up, not running free. That didn’t do favours for anyone’s expression. 

She stayed quiet during the flight. Barely talked. Just ‘thank you’s when he brought her food and ‘goodbye’s when he left again. None of that snappiness he’d seen between her and Anderson and none of the wit he’d conjured in his dreams.

He kicked himself for being so disappointed. His own fault anyway, for elevating her so high in the first place. Just a human, like him. Eats, shits and sleeps like everybody else.

But he wouldn’t let his disappointment get the better of him. Anderson had chosen him for this babysitting job, and not only would James be the best damn babysitter the galaxy had ever seen, he’d also do his best to make sure Shepard lived up to the dream.

*

Being a guard had all the same hurry and wait moments being a marine. First they were docking with the SSV Fuji, then they weren’t. Admiral Hackett was coming on board, then he wasn’t. Emergency alarms sounded and James prepped for engagement. False alarm. Back to your stations.

None of this did shit for James’ nerves. Confined to Shepard’s cell during every lock down meant he couldn’t get to the ship gym, so he did what he did best in these situations: stress pushups.

He lost count around fifty and started again, swearing to himself. Only a giggle pulled him up short.

Shepard leaned against her bed, arms folded, one ankle over the other, smirking.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked.

“I’d been wondering if you were the real deal,” she said. “Seems you are.”

Like he’d take a shot like that lying down. 

“You dance?” He looked at her sideways. Shit, on her feet already. Her grin had turned feral, eyes sparkling. She even cracked her knuckles.

“Do I look like a ballerina?”

James jumped up, cracking his neck and shoulders. “Alright. But don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you just cause you’re top dog.”

“I’m at the bottom of the pack these days, Vega.”

“Bullshit. You’ll always be Commander Shepard. At least, until they promote you again.” Some of that spark dulled and he kicked himself for saying something so stupid.

Before he could say anything else, she dropped into a fighting stance, bobbing on her feet and grinning. They should’ve been wearing gloves at least. But this was just a little dance. Nothing to get too heated up about. Her jabs came lighting quick, and so did his ducks. Until she feinted and he paid for it with his nose. Blood started pouring out but she didn’t stop. She just laughed.

“Come on Vega, I know you’re better than this.”

He wiped his nose on his forearm, swallowed the shock and gave as good as could.

Holy _fuck_! Now _this_ was more like it!

*

They both sat in the med bay, receiving treatment for broken noses and black eyes from a military doctor who’d clearly never had any empathy in his life, while Anderson gave them a dressing down that half the ship must’ve been able to hear. James quivered, convinced he’d get pulled off the assignment. He dared not look at Shepard, sat right beside him.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?” Anderson demanded after a tirade about responsibility, integrity, and the pride of the Alliance badge.

James piped up first, quick to admit responsibility and apologise. Anderson said nothing and James thought he’d not been able to understand a word he’d said, what with all the stitches and anesthetic in his face.

“Shepard?” Anderson asked, glaring at her. Shit he was scary when he was angry.

“Calm down, _Dad_. We were just having fun. Fuck knows I need some of that right now.”

Holy hell! She did not just say that. _Again_. This wasn’t like last time. No way. She’s just been reprimanded and--

James sat there, frozen in fear. His career flashed before his eyes. He dared not breathe, willed his thumping heart to just _shut up._ Even the doc was in shock. 

Then Anderson roared with laughter, Shepard too. So loud James’ ears hurt, like he was in the middle of a firefight and couldn’t damn well concentrate. Anderson slapped Shepard on the shoulder, then James.

James looked between the two, furious and confused, and a little jealous of the easiness of the relationship between Commander and Admiral.

“You’re doing good work, James. Keep it up. But Shepard, no more bruises, okay? You’ve got to keep up appearances. Can’t have you looking like a brawler.”

Shepard nodded. Anderson patted them on the shoulders again. “Now you two get out.”

James was too stunned to talk, escorting Shepard back to her cell without saying a word. Crew stared but James kept his head up and straight, his hand on Shepard’s forearm like he’d be taught to do, like that would stop her making a break. More like she’d snap his elbow. She had a bounce to her step though, one he’d not seen on her before. Made her look taller. More powerful.

They reached her door and he unlocked it, letting her in. 

“This was fun,” she said. “Sorry about your nose. And your eye. _And_ your lip. Shouldn’t leave a scar though.” She slapped him on the arm, no where near as hard as she had just an hour ago, but it felt like a krogan charge anyway.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to stay casual while still out of it. “I guess I’ll see you next cycle.”

“How about later _this_ cycle?” she replied, hand on hip.

Huh? Shit, how many bombs would she drop on him and how much more could he endure. “Uh, yeah, sure, okay, here? My shift ends at--”

“James, hey. I meant dinner.”

Oh, _shit_. Dinner? With Shepard? What crap did the mess have on the menu tonight? Nothing good enough for dinner with Shepard. He’d have to cook then. The Mess Sergeant would spew his guts if James took over again, but too bad---- Oh fuck, oh--wait. She meant dinner, not _dinner_. His face must have shown because Shepard grinned at what he felt was his expense. 

“Shit, yeah. Of course. Dinner.”

She thanked him, said she’d see him later, and closed the door. He stood there, staring at where she’d just been, breathing heavily, fearing what would happen if he moved.

*

Their routine changed once they hit Earth. Shepard’s Alliance HQ detention cell was more fancy than any house James’d ever lived in, but he wasn’t complaining. Decent food, decent bed, real air. And he had access to a proper gym for the first time in months. He made the most of it too, on his downtime. Pity Anderson and Hackett wouldn’t let Shepard out though. 

She gave him puppy dog eyes when she asked where he’d been and he apologised, stammering, like he’d stood her up or something. He offered to try and at least get a treadmill in, or some weights. Enough that they could both work out together.

“Good. I like your company. Don’t let that go to your head, Vega. Aside from you and Anderson, the only company I have these days is brass and Council. And they’re idiots.”

“You saying I’m no idiot then, huh, Shepard?”

“You’re not the dumbass you pretend to be.”

Before he could really think what she meant by that, she continued. “All I’m saying is, maybe you don’t have to go to the gym to get a workout.”

He took the bait, folding his arms and looking her up and down. “Uh huh.”

She grinned but folded her arms right back.

He held his hands up. “All right, all right. I’ll get us some gear.”

*

His fantasies started to change, meld with reality. She didn’t rescue him these days. Sure, they still fought together, back to back against impossible odds, dancing around the battlefield with perfect synergy. They’d be laughing, high on adrenaline as the last opponent fell. But when they’d turn to face each other, all dreamy-eyed and heaving, they’d… not kiss. They’d high-five. Didn’t pack quite the same punch as sex.

No more hot and passionate kisses. No more hands grasping at armour. Just thinking like that now felt wrong. Disrespectful, even. 

Nights like those, James would lie on his back, staring at the ceiling, guilt soaking him like sweat. If they weren’t where they were… if they’d met on leave, in a bar, on a beach, then maybe...

Ah, who was he kidding. Like he’d ever make a move on Commander Shepard, beach bar or no. She wouldn’t either. Why would she? She’d date her own rank at least. If she even dated. Lieutenants were way, way, _way_ down the ladder compared to Commanders. Not to mention Spectres.

Didn’t stop him flirting though. And she didn’t stop flirting back. He’d take what she gave, lap it up and replay it once they’d gone their separate ways.

*

Five months and three days into his assignment and what else would he be doing but losing a push-up battle against Shepard. They’d long since lost count, now pushing themselves for the sheer hell of it, neither wanting to give up and let the other win. How she kept up, James didn’t know. She was a leaf floating down a stream compared to his boulder of a body. 

His biceps had turned to jelly, his calves and quads burning hotter than the sun. He’d pay for this in the morning but shit, he didn’t care. _Five more_ , he told himself, _five more than then I’m done. Dead_. 

Five came and went. He held on the last one, sweat dripping from his nose. He glanced a look at Shepard, saw her looking much the same, arms shaking, face slick. She glanced over, their eyes meeting, desperately, willing the other to end this pain.

“Truce?” James offered.

Shepard nodded and together they fell to the floor panting and heaving. Sweet, blessed floor.

After kissing the ground, James made it to the kitchen and grabbed two whole jugs of water. The pair slumped back against the couches, gulping down water, too fucked to say anything. James’ eyes slipped closed as he pressed the cool jug to his cheek.

“Hey, Vega.”

“Yeah.” James mustered all his energy to turn his head to her and open his eyes.

Shepard was silent a moment longer before she spoke, voice all cracked and hoarse. “When all this is over, I’d love to have you on my crew.”

He gulped, heart beating harder than it had ten minutes ago. “Fuck, really? You really mean that?”

She smirked. “Why not? I mean, I haven’t had access to your files, so maybe you’re harbouring a deep secret that I don’t know about, but from what I’ve seen? I want you.”

Oh, shit. Wrong choice of words, Shepard. Blood ran south, making him dizzy. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline. He sat up straight, heedless of the light head. “I’d be honoured, ma’am.”

“What have I said about the ma’am crap?” She grinned.

He grinned right back. He clambered upright, eyes settled on the middle distance, and saluted. “I’d be honoured to serve with you, Commander Shepard.” 

She beckoned him back down. “I’d celebrate with a drink, but --” she she held up her empty jug. “We’ll make it official, but in the meantime, welcome aboard Lieutenant.” She held her hand out and James took it, shaking, firm.


End file.
